


Like Fire and Ice

by Celticheavens



Category: VIXX
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Third Person, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticheavens/pseuds/Celticheavens
Summary: Wonsik contemplates the relationship between VIXX's two oldest members.Written for the promptdescribe the relationship between two characters from the POV of a third character.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This piece is a work of fiction and nothing more. The characters depicted in this story are in no way realistic representations of their actual counterparts, and should be taken as literary inspirations of the latter and nothing more. No form of defamation or malice are intended.

The rapper sits down with an ungraceful thump, too overcome with relief from the seemingly endless hours of dance practice finally ending. He reaches gratefully for a bottle of freezing cold water –courtesy of Hakyeon: probably a small gesture of sympathy for pushing the group even more than usual this week—, almost unable to suppress an embarrassing moan of satisfaction from escaping when he feels the iciness expand in his chest. He looks around the studio, and notices how each member has more or less mimicked his own pose: slumped in some corner of the room, with bottles almost drained of their contents nearby; oily strands of hair stubbornly plastered to their gleaming foreheads; eyes unfocused, or closed; chests still heaving with each ragged breath. Wonsik takes another long swig from his bottle, stopping only when he has finally emptied it. He eyes the item once more, then proceeds to scrunch the plastic a little too aggressively as he attempts to force the remaining stray droplets into his still parched throat. Finally giving up, he releases the bottle with a grunt. The hollow clatter of empty plastic against the cheap wooden floor is jarring against the relative silence of the studio, and it earns him a smouldering glare almost immediately from across the room. Wonsik doesn’t flinch at the eye contact, instead choosing to shoot an easy grin back to his teammate, making sure to give a longer than necessary flash of his pearly-whites in the process. Sure enough, Taekwoon breaks the contact first –but not before he returns a small scowl–, and settles back into his previous position: head resting softly against the wall, and eyes shut, but occasionally fluttering whenever the male beside him shifts.

Wonsik lets himself fall flat onto the floor, instantly regretting the decision when he feels the thin cotton of his soaked tee cling uncomfortably to his skin. He sighs irritably, and shifts a little to his side in hopes that the material will dislodge from his sticky form. When that doesn’t happen, he focuses on the coolness of the floor against his heated skin instead, and rolls his head to look at the rest of his group. His sight is unconsciously drawn towards the two oldest members, who are monopolising the portable fan in the far corner of the room. He contemplates kicking up a fuss about the unfair treatment, but decides against it in order to preserve the rare peaceful atmosphere. He turns his gaze back to the duo, both of whom have their attention focused on their respective phones: Hakyeon’s fingers tapping away furiously, while in contrast, Taekwoon casually swipes at the screen. Wonsik chuckles inwardly at the sight, noting how their actions parallel their actual interactions. Hakyeon is more of a social butterfly –always flitting from one person to another–, and navigating a multitude of conversations on a variety of topics with ease. Taekwoon on the other hand, favours a more intimate setting, and prefers to take his time building a conversation, exploring each topic with some form of depth before moving on. On the surface, given their disparate personalities, they would not be a good match as friends, let alone something more romantic.

To Wonsik, Hakyeon feels like fire: his core is always glowing bright, exuding a sort of hypnotic warmth that protects from the superficiality that pervades their industry, and also imbues those it touches with the same fervour that characterises the man. This means that people naturally drift to Hakyeon –craving the spark that lights up his eyes when he smiles–, all in hopes that one day, a glimmer of his fire will become etched into their souls by association. But what they forget is that the same light that has attracted many is also what that ultimately drives them away, for Hakyeon is, and will always be fire: passionate and consuming. The weaker ones will feel more drained than revitalised by his presence – his enthusiastic displays of affections, and the intensity of his interactions end up more grating than endearing. Each requirement to maintain the relationship adds to the steep slope of sacrifice that many are not willing to attempt, let alone conquer. In the end, most who had initially sought his companionship were forced to leave, taking with them the remnants of their oxidised embers, energies long exhausted by the ferocity of Hakyeon’s.

Taekwoon is the opposite, because to Wonsik, he feels like ice: everything about his demeanour at first sight portrays a detached coldness – his aloofness is evident in his typically blank expressions, and in the stiffness of his usually defensive body language. The intimidation factor is accentuated by his eyes –usually locked in a stare that threatens to pierce through the target’s soul like that of the unrelenting winter wind–, almost as if assessing one’s worthiness before proceeding with further interactions. As a result of what the rest of the group good-naturedly calls his _artic circle effect_ , both strangers and acquaintances alike tend to shy away, or outright avoid any form of contact with him for fear of contracting his frigidity. However, there are still those who aren’t deterred, and continue to pursue whatever is beneath the visible tip of the iceberg. These people are usually pleasantly met with a level headed and grounded individual whose character is more coolly observant than cold-hearted. The few who have succeeded tend to stay by his side –since accustomed to the shards that encase the introverted man–, and appreciative of the sobering yet invigorating effect of the few words exchanged with him. Over time, they find themselves more than willing to push past the initial resistance, all in hopes of quenching their thirst for the refreshing chill of his prudent sensibility.

Wonsik feels himself purse his lips at his thoughts, the differences between the two men more distinct than ever to him. He has never given a second thought to their relationship, choosing instead to savour how most of the leader’s social attention has been redirected to his unfortunate partner. The more he ponders their differences, the less likely their longevity seems: an impassioned blaze, and the placid frost, wouldn’t be able to survive alongside each other –especially not for this long–. He steals a glance at the couple, and wonders how they are still going strong three years later. He continues to observe the two men, now more curious than ever about their relationship dynamic. Hakyeon’s fingers finally still, and the dancer moves into a half-hearted seated hamstring stretch, a whine spilling from his tongue. Although it is too soft for Wonsik to hear, he can see Taekwoon shift at the words, twisting slightly until he is able to gently rub along the length of the other’s backbone. To a stranger, they look no more than close friends, but Wonsik knows better. He notices how Taekwoon’s fingers linger when they reach Hakyeon’s tailbone, his thumb tracing several small circles before he lightly drags his palm up the latter’s back once more; he notices how Hakyeon immediately relaxes into Taekwoon’s touch, his complaint replaced by a contented smile that barely tugs at the corners of his lips; he notices how despite the minimal words exchanged on Taekwoon’s end, his gaze always returns to Hakyeon –his eyes darting every so often from the faintly illuminated screen of his phone to that of his lover in his peripheries–; he notices how although Hakyeon is still preoccupied with his phone –fingers animatedly typing away again–, he lets his elbow rest casually on Taekwoon’s thigh, and occasionally turns to show him yet another adorable photo of a baby critter; he notices how when their eyes meet, the last of their mostly one-sided frivolous conversation evaporate, and an almost imperceptible glimmer of happiness flits across their features before both men return to their original activities, each radiating an almost palpable blissfulness that can only be elicited by the other’s familiar presence.

Wonsik grabs for his towel to halt the persistent trails of sweat that have rolled near the precipice of his lids, the temporary pause in his train of thoughts more than welcomed. He sighs –half in defeat, and half in amusement–, and wonders how his idea of relaxation has now transformed into dissecting the love life of the two oldest group members. He knows he isn’t the only one who is curious: Hongbin has voiced on numerous occasions his disbelief that Taekwoon can tolerate Hakyeon’s affections on a daily basis, while Sanghyuk and Jaehwan have a running gag about how Hakyeon must feel that talking to Taekwoon is comparable to conversing with a block of wood. Wonsik too has contributed his fair share of jibes over the years, his playful words doing little to hide the genuine confusion that has spurred their creation. He returns his attention to the couple, and feels a grin spread across his face when he realises that Hakyeon has partially draped himself over Taekwoon’s crossed legs. Contrary to his usual reaction, Taekwoon settles for stroking his significant other’s hair, the faint imprints of a smile teasing the sides of his eyes as he watches the other scroll through his wall of tweets. Wonsik studies the duo for a moment, and feels a sliver of understanding ghost his consciousness – its teasing touch leaving a series of evanescent vibrations that guide the fragments he holds into a new whole.

Hakyeon is fire, and Taekwoon is ice: diametrical opposites whose coexistence subsists only in paradox. Wonsik remembers how the early days of their friendship were rife with conflicts; the hiss of the untamed flame against resisting ice seared into his memory. Hakyeon’s urgent vibrancy was an intimidating singe – the brand it had left was more than sufficient a reason for Taekwoon to retreat further behind his shield, now increasingly wary of each spark thrown his way. When pushed too far, Taekwoon delivered a torrent of biting responses in retaliation – the freezing burn they had left on Hakyeon a reminder that toying with the cold was no less forgiving than playing with fire. That was how most of their early interactions went: an exchange of pushes and pulls that morphed into that of an unwilling tango between stubborn partners, neither willing to relinquish control. Wonsik muses in retrospect somewhat amusedly, that despite the obvious tension between them, the duo must harbour a hidden masochistic streak fuelled by their headstrong tendencies. If he were in either of their shoes, he would have hightailed out of the _friendship_ in order to salvage last of his sanity. He pinches his nose bridge in memory of the clashes between the two oldest group members: a whirlwind of furious flame threatening to demolish all in its path, met with the ruthless sea of ice adamant in its creeping advance, concluding in an explosion of tempers that the other unsuspecting members occasionally found themselves embroiled in.

Wonsik doesn’t remember the precise moment when the dynamic between Hakyeon and Taekwoon shifted –their fights having become such an intrinsic part of his life that he has long learnt to tune them out–. It began with small observations: when walking in a group, Hakyeon would let his speed falter until his steps fell in sync with Taekwoon’s; when the victim of Hakyeon’s touches, Taekwoon would instinctively shy away, but continued to remain next to the leader with his shoulder almost brushing the other’s as a reassuring consolation; when in group conversations, Hakyeon would casually direct the occasional question to Taekwoon, patiently awaiting the other’s answer before he allowed the discussion to progress; when rushing between schedules, Taekwoon would drop a small banana flavoured snack onto Hakyeon’s lap, but not before giving the other a pointed stare as a warning of the repercussions that would follow if he failed to keep quiet; when gifted with rare free time, Hakyeon and Taekwoon would find themselves in each other’s company – the older man peppering the silence with the inane, whilst the other continued with his own activity, only interrupting when a topic caught his fancy. Wonsik was relieved that the previously tense atmosphere of their dorm had dissipated as the months passed – a welcomed product of the improvement in the oldest two men’s relationship. However, what he hadn’t expect to happen was for Hakyeon to call a sudden meeting on an ordinary spring night, and then proceeded to announce to four incredulous faces that he and Taekwoon were henceforth attached. Wonsik remembers looking at an ecstatic Hakyeon, and a very annoyed Taekwoon –who was trapped in a tenacious grip behind his _boyfriend_ –, a wave of disbelief temporarily inhibiting his ability to speak. In the days after, Wonsik felt his scepticism partially abate after the initial shock factor had subsided. Although he wasn’t much closer to unravelling the strange dichotomy of their relationship, he was certain that the two men had fallen into a state of compromise despite their divergent natures.

Hakyeon is fire, and Taekwoon is ice: the tension from their contraries also the vessel that binds. Wonsik spends the next few moments observing the couple, and he thinks he finally understands. He can still see the brilliant shine of Hakyeon’s flame, kindled yet tamed: its raw desire to devour contained by Taekwoon’s defiance, and the latter carefully yielding to avoid smothering the passion into dying cinders. The effect is mellowing on Hakyeon’s once suffocating temperament. Wonsik is appreciative of how it has moderated the conflagration from Hakyeon’s contact: the almost asphyxiating scorches left by prolonged interactions with the leader have cooled to that of a more tolerable heat. Instead, these days, Wonsik can’t help but find the dancer’s nagging words and incessant touches reminiscent of an enduring familial memory – the comfort infused in them warming his heart in the lonely depths of the night. Wonsik observes a similar change in Taekwoon, whose icy façade remains cool yet welcoming: the daunting jagged edges that had once decorated his solace have been smoothened by Hakyeon’s warmth, and the latter consciously tampering his affections to respect the other’s personal space. To a stranger, the manner in which Hakyeon attempts to befriend others feels almost intrusive – akin to destructive flames intent on razing everything in their path, and reshaping the ashes left into a being inspired by their own. But Wonsik doesn’t view Hakyeon’s actions as such. Instead, he prefers to think of the leader’s effect as being more stimulating than inventive. Like how the latter’s earnest glow gradually coaxed Taekwoon from the comfort of cold solitude, and invigorated the sprout that was trapped within the layers of inertia with the energy to extend into the embrace of sunlight. The result isn’t a one-eighty degrees change from who Taekwoon was before; rather, it reveals an individual who is more confident in exhibiting his qualities in the original’s stead. Wonsik is thankful for this change, for it helped strengthen his friendship with Taekwoon. The latter’s presence is less pressurising than before, and instead takes on a more self-reflective form. Wonsik finds himself returning to Taekwoon for critiques on his compositions – the other’s perfectionistic nature a mirrored surface that discerns, and aids in unearthing the flaws that have eluded his own biased eyes.

A sharp clap that resonates throughout the practice room snaps Wonsik from his reverie. He blinks rapidly to clear his head of all remaining stray thoughts, and proceeds to eye the source of the noise wearily. Hakyeon stands up –a cheeky grin on his face–, and moves towards the stereo with Taekwoon trailing behind him. Wonsik can’t help but release a groan of exasperation at the thought of going through the dance routine yet again. To the surprise of the rest of the group, the leader bypasses the sound system, and approaches the door. He turns around just before exiting, and calls out cheerily, “Last one to leave buys the rest coffee!” Wonsik swallows his partially formed objection, and gapes at receding footsteps of the two men in disbelief. He barely has time to process what has just happened before he hears cries of indignation mixed with the clamber of clumsy steps vying for escape. He pushes himself hurriedly off the floor, and leaps for the door, but is barely inched out by Jaehwan when he finds himself unceremoniously tripping on a bundle of wires in the process. He finally exits the studio; a series of excuses and grumbles of displeasure automatically countering the teasing and boisterous laughter fired his way. He tunes out the banter around him, and focuses on the couple leading the way instead. Wonsik sees how Hakyeon opts to detail his observations for the day’s training instead of initiating a proper conversation; he sees how Taekwoon’s fingers play with the hem of Hakyeon’s sleeve as they amble along, almost as though a filler for his lack of replies; he sees how Hakyeon eventually falls silent, and lets out a tired sigh, to which Taekwoon interlocks his fingers with his lover’s; he sees how Taekwoon’s touch reignites the living fire in Hakyeon that has ebbed with the weight of the day, and how the latter casts a thankful smile in return; he sees how Taekwoon melts into the curl of his boyfriend’s lips, the suppressed tension in his posture disappearing; he sees how the pair drifts closer with each step, until their sides are almost pressed against the other’s, and their heads are barely inches apart.

What Wonsik doesn’t see however, is how after chasing the rest of the group into their dorm, the couple shares a kiss – their essences bleeding into each other in that temporal moment, and coalescing into visions of a new reality that leave the pair burning with desire, and shivering with exhilaration, when they finally separate. The two lovers linger amidst the fading euphoria, foreheads resting against each other’s, and enjoying the harmonisation of their discordant hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> Original notes from 2015: I actually managed to force myself to write something! (And a big hooray for sloppy descriptions, an abundance of run-on-lines, chronic misuse of punctuation, inconsistent tense switches, and massive lists!)
> 
> Although I took my time with this, it was still a huge practice in perseverance, and confidence. I was definitely not feeling even the slightest tinge of motivation or inspiration when I started, and pretty much just forced myself to pick a prompt, and run with it. 
> 
> I know the comparison of fire and ice has been done to death, but I've always favoured pairings that play on opposing natures, so falling into this cliche is pretty inevitable. (Even more so when you realise I love using elements related metaphors/analogies to describe everything and anything.) 
> 
> Also please let me apologise for subjecting all who've read this to the arduous task of dissecting my superfluous writing style! As much as I'd love to water down some of its excesses, it'll take a while before I can shake the influences of Dostoevsky, Dickens, Kafka, Proust, and other long-winded old literary giants... 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading this lousy piece of mine, dear audience! Keep the VIXX love alive! <3
> 
> (Two years later, this has remained my favourite piece of writing _ever_. What made me even prouder of myself is how this was completely uninspired squeezing of words out from bone dry bedrock. It really boosted my confidence in my writing abilities, and although I doubt I'll ever reach this pinnacle again, it's still comforting to know that once upon a time, my voice could weave a tapestry of words like this. And I'm no longer that lacking in self-confidence that I need to apologise each time I post.)
> 
> (Originally posted to my tumblr: dancingunderdarkstars, and my AFF: devils_solitude)


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